The Schrödinger Problem
by Strabec
Summary: Doyle goes undercover to foil a bank raid, when things start to go very wrong.
1. According to Plan

I do not own the Professionals (mores the pity…). The only reward I get for this (in this story's case anyway) is sadistic pleasure, but no money. So please don't sue.

**The Schrödinger Problem**

**Chapter 1: According to Plan... **

The police cars screeched around the corner and pulled up next to the bank. Police officers jumped out of their cars just as the bank raiders exited the building. Both sides pulled out

their guns and started to fire simultaneously. Lead flew everywhere like a swarms of angry bees. Bodie crouched down behind his car, his gun ready and scanned the scene.

Shouting, guns firing, the noise was deafening. One of the raiders broke free and was running into Bodie's line of fire. He fired, the raider ducked, rolled and sheltered behind another

car. His heart was pounding. Although he understood that real bullets and not dummies had to be used, he couldn't hide his uneasiness. It had caused a row between him and

Cowley. The other agents too were not very happy either. But to use false bullets would arouse the raiders suspicions. Bodie gritted his teeth and started firing poorly aimed bullets

in the nearby raider's direction. The raider lay flat on the ground and crept a little forward. The raider then spotted Bodie and looked hard in his direction. As he was wearing a

balaclava, all Bodie could see was his eyes, but it was enough to confirm the suspicion he'd had. The way the raider had moved and had gone for cover seemed all too familiar. The

was a moments hesitation between them, the reluctance showing in their movements as they both raised their guns. Then Bodie and Doyle started firing at each other.

In the beginning, there was the tip off that had started the whole operation. A bank raid to steal safety deposit boxes filled with gold, silver and any valuables and smuggle them

abroad to Switzerland. Quite a lot was already known about the group attempting the raid. The leader, Daniel Miller, came from a family of criminals. His elder brother was currently

serving a life sentence for murder. It was suspected that Danny had actually committed the murder but his brother had taken the wrap for him. The rest of the group followed Danny

like a pack of hounds, doing his orders. They had never attempted to break into something as well protected as the bank. Normally this group specialised in mansions and high class

residences. Therefore it seemed reasonable to assume that the group would be seeking a security expert who could get them into the bank vault, and of course back out again

without setting off the alarms. Doyle had lost a toss of the coin with Bodie and had replaced the expert Nigel Winterbottom. Doyle quietly knew that Bodie would never let him live it

down. Doyle and Bodie had found Nigel before Danny had and had deposited him into the interrogation rooms in CI5. Doyle had information directly from the bank itself about their

security systems and as far as CI5 were aware, this group had never met Nigel before so there had not been much need to get him to talk. So Nigel had been left in the interrogation

room alone. The odd thing was that he seemed happy enough to be there. He had barely struggled as Bodie and Doyle had pushed him through the door. Danny had made contact

with Doyle, thinking he was Nigel. The plan had been to let Danny and his group into the bank, steal the boxes and arrest them as they came out. But Doyle had made contact to say

that it was not Danny that was organising the raid but someone higher up. The plan changed. The raiders would not be allowed to get away with the deposit boxes, the bank and

the minister had been very specific on that point but the raiders would be allowed to escape so they could lead the police and CI5 to the boss. Doyle had been fitted with a secret

radio in case anything should go wrong.

Outside the bank a large van came crashing through the police barrier that sent cars flying and men running for cover. In the moments silence that followed the raiders darted

forward and jumped into the back. The police and CI5 continued to duck as the van roared away, the bullets still flying from the raiders guns.

There was a look in Danny's face Doyle was wary of. That look had been there ever since he had spoken to the boss, who Doyle now knew was called Simon Bartholomew. When he

had spoken to Bartholomew on the phone, Danny thundered shouting and bawling at the foul up. Someone had grassed. Someone had to pay. Doyle and the other two, Gavin and

John had argued among themselves, debating who is was that had known about the plan and exactly who could have given the information to the police. Danny had exited the

phone box looking furious and had told them they were to drive to a house. Doyle had asked where the house was, but Danny had looked at him with a look of cold fury on his face

and had said that Mr Bartholomew told him not to tell any of them. Gavin and John had been puzzled, but not surprised. As they were driving, Doyle had noticed that they were being

followed. He was quietly relieved when he recognised Steve. When they arrived at the house, Steve would radio in and tell them where they were. They drove for sometime before

arriving at a ordinary-looking row of council houses. Doyle noticed that Steve had hung back, so as not to alert the rest of the gang. Danny lead them to one of the houses, first

picking up a key from some hidden place near the door. There was a man waiting for them in the living room as they entered. It had to be the boss. He was a tall thin man with very

light brown hair some of which he combed over his balding head. He wore a long black heavy looking coat which looked somehow strange in summer. He had a strange smile too. It

was as though his mouth was not quite big enough to cover his large, slightly askew teeth. He looked straight at Doyle. He had blue eyes. Ice-cold blue eyes that never blinked.

Bartholomew stood and walked over towards them. He seemed fixed on Doyle and stood in front of him.

"Someone grassed on us..." Danny started from behind Bartholomew.

"It was him." Bartholomew said softly. Before Doyle could react Gavin, who was at least a foot taller and twice as broad, had seized his arms.

"What Nigel?!" Danny exclaimed.

"I do not know who he is, but he certainly is not Nigel."

The last thing that Bodie would admit to as he walked through the corridors of the office was the small knot of worry that had made it way into his gut. The stupid thing was that he

couldn't put his finger on what it was. When Bodie returned from the raid he had gone to Nigel to try and get some information from him. To his surprise, instead of the relaxed Nigel

that had been happy to stay in the interrogation room, there was a jumpy, nervous Nigel who refused point blank to say anything at all. He suspected he could offer the man a million

pounds and a first class ticket to south America and he still wouldn't talk. It wasn't bravery, bravado or pride. It was fear. It flowed from him. All you had to do was lay a hand on him

and he would jump. He twitched constantly and bit nails. He seemed to be looking at the dark corners of the room either as a potential hiding place or as though something dark and

terrible lurked in them. He jumped when Bodie opened the door and he and Cowley walked in. Bodie could see the puzzlement in Cowley's manner. Bodie also knew that there was a

certain degree or irritation there too. Cowley hadn't been able to find any leverage in Nigel's background. He couldn't even use family. His mother and father had died a few years

ago, and there were no other member's of his family he was close to. All-in-all he was doing an incredible impression of an oyster. But they needed to get at the pearl. Cowley looked

at the man for a long moment, before asking softly.

"Who are you frightened of?" The man's eye's flickered in his direction, but otherwise he made no move and continued to nervously bite his nails.

"Ah, so you are frightened of someone." Cowley said with a note of confirmation and satisfaction in his voice. It was then Bodie realised that Cowley was a lot better at reading the

small changes in a person's body language than anyone. Cowley could probably hold a full conversation with Nigel by reading his body language alone.

"Is it your partners?" Cowley had moved round to sit opposite the man to study his reactions closely. No reaction.

"The boss?" A flicker. Cowley smiled. There was silence, and Bodie could tell, his boss's mind was turning. Suddenly Bodie realised what it was that had been bothering him. They

knew that the team that had been recruited to do the job had never met Nigel, what they hadn't checked, or more accurately, what they had not found out was whether Nigel was

known to the boss.

"You know the boss?" Bodie tried. "You've actually met him?" Cowley shot him a look, then turned back to Nigel, watching the reaction. The nail biting stopped and he looked at

Cowley with a steady gaze. Cowley stood up.

"Right, Bodie try and raise Doyle..."

"You mean we've left Doyle out there...!"

"You are wasting time Bodie!" Cowley snapped back, Bodie rushed from the room.

Doyle had expected to be beaten up. Certainly Danny wanted to, Gavin flexed his muscles and looked at him gleefully, but Bartholomew had said no, he had something else in mind.

So he had been tied to a chair in the kitchen with one of his arms free. Danny was holding him down. Gavin stood in front of him looking expectant. He could hear Bartholomew

rustling in a drawer behind him. He glanced at John in the doorway. John looked sick.

"Look, can't we just tie him up and leave him here?"

"Nah." Danny said, breathing in Doyle ear. "If you're going to be squeamish John, leave now." Danny's voice lowered darkly. Doyle's imagination started to work overtime. He'd know

Danny now for about 4 days. Danny was the pull-the-wings-of-a-fly-then-watch-it-struggle type. Gavin was the muscle, it was easy to assume that he was a thick as two short

planks, but he was brighter than he looked. He did however have a depressing tendency to follow any orders given to him. Doyle actually quite liked John. John was a cat burglar, and

a very good one. He could pick locks and open any door you wanted. It had been John that had opened the bank vault in a surprising short time. Doyle had replaced the man hired to

overcome security so they had been working fairly closely together. Bartholomew finished rustling in the drawers and appeared in front of Doyle. He smiled faintly. Doyle could see

that he had something behind his back.

"I want one piece of information. Just one piece. I am not interested in what the police know about us, or me. I don't care how you managed to replace poor Nigel. All I want is your

name. Just your name." He stood back, and Gavin grabbed his free arm and held it firmly on the table in front of them. His heart started to beat faster. Judging from the look on John's

face, it wouldn't be pleasant. A meat cleaver appeared in front of him, held by Bartholomew. The sun glinted on the blade. He looked at Bartholomew who placed the blade on Doyle's

wrist. He looked into his cold blue eyes. There was a look of cold purpose in his face. _I could probably put up with pain_, Doyle thought. Then Cowley's voice came into his mind. "You're

no use if you can't hold a gun." No hand, no gun, no CI5.

The meat cleaver came striking down.

"Doyle!" He shouted. It stopped a hair's breath from his wrist. There was a pause which seemed to last for a lifetime.

"Enough." Bartholomew said lightly. "Find some rope. Tie him up."

"But he's a grass. We should kill him now." Danny had appeared with a gun now pointed at Doyle head. He looked up he saw the boss's face and started to feel sick. There was a

glint in his eye and that smile had a more twisted air to it. His voice lowered darkly.

"Oh he shall. But he will suffer first."


	2. I predict a riot

I do not own the Professionals (mores the pity…). The only reward I get for this (in this story's case anyway) is sadistic pleasure, but no money. So please don't sue.

**The Schrödinger Problem:**

**Chapter 2: I predict a riot**

Bodie had not been able to contact Doyle and Steve had not called in. His last report had given them an area to search but so far to no avail. Cowley had become increasingly short

tempered. There was increased tension in the air, everyone seemed to feel it. The small knot of worry in Bodie's gut had increased. Bodie was hoping for a hostage situation, that

would at least mean that Doyle was alive, and that it was in the gangs interest to keep him alive. But what sort of man was this boss? Nigel was frightened, terrified of him. Bodie

was looking at him now. The man was still doing his annoying and effective oyster impression. Cowley sat opposite Nigel who was still biting his nails, when he wasn't doing that, he

was wringing his hands. Now and then he glanced at Bodie and frowned slightly. Bodie got the impression he was trying to reach a decision.

"Have you found them yet?" It was the first intelligible thing Nigel had said. Bodie, leaning against a wall his arms folded, replied.

"No, but we will." A look of alarm spread across Nigel's face.

"I thought you said you had a man on the inside!" He said, now sounding very scared. "Hasn't he told you where they are?!" Nigel was shouting so loudly. Cowley frowned.

"He hasn't been in contact." Nigel stared at him, then he got up and started to pace. Bodie made a move in Nigel's direction, but Cowley held up his hand.

"No, no, oh no..." He kept repeating. Bodie looked at Cowley, and to his alarm he could the increased anxiousness in his bosses face.

"Look," Nigel said, trying to keep his breathing under control. "I'll tell you anything, but you've got to promise that I will never see Bartholomew again. Ever, not in a court room, not in

a prison nowhere."

"Bartholomew? Is that his name?" Bodie asked. Nigel glanced at him, then back at Cowley.

"I'll tell you anything, just promise to keep me separate from him."

"Alright. Agreed." Cowley said. Nigel visibly relaxed, and then actually smiled.

"Never again. Never see him." Nigel then sat back down. "His name is Simon Bartholomew."

Cowley was alone in his office having left Bodie to interrogate Nigel. Nigel was talking fluently now, seeming happy to tell them anything they wanted to know. Though Cowley knew

there were a few things he was reticent about. He still wasn't saying why he was so frightened of Simon Bartholomew, and Cowley could see that it was bothering Bodie. Now they

had the opposite problem. Whereas at first they couldn't get Nigel to say one word. Now they were having a hard time getting Nigel to shut up whilst they asked questions. But since

Nigel had told them the bosses name, Cowley had asked Betty to get a file on him. It was his file Cowley was now looking at or more specifically the psychiatric report of a prison

doctor in Switzerland where he had spent some time. Cowley had read it twice now, still not quite ready to believe the depths at which human depravity could sink. He couldn't allow

himself to be distracted. Nigel was holding out in one area, and that was how the safety deposit boxes were to be smuggled to Switzerland. Bodie was trying to get this information

out of Nigel. Doyle hadn't called in. But that didn't matter. A police patrol had called in saying that they had discovered Steve's car and Cowley had sent Murphy and a squad. Bodie

had wanted to join in, inadvertently revealing his worry for Doyle safety. Soon Murphy would call in, they would have the gang and find out what had happened to Doyle. So why was

he uneasy?

Murphy did call in. The house was empty. Well almost empty. The gang had found Doyle's hidden radio and smashed it pieces. They left it neatly arranged on a table in the kitchen.

They had then found Steve's body in a large bin in the street outside. There was no sign of Doyle, or the gang, or any clue as to where they had gone. He'd made a mistake. He

should have moved earlier, that is what Bodie would say. How on earth was he to tell Bodie what had happened without him exploding and rushing off to do something stupid? The

psychiatric report, particularly Simon's photography grinned evilly at him from his desk. Simon was completely psychopathic with the added bonus of being a complete genius, which

was why he'd only ever been caught once, and eventually managed to be released on a technicality. Somewhere else in the file was the list of crimes he had been accused of, but

could not be proved. The list was depressingly long and even worse to read. The file was under his arm now, and he was walking purposefully towards the interrogation room. The

agents he passed on either side seemed to be holding their breath, waiting. He caught the odd anxious look out of the corner of his eye. He reached the room and went inside.

Murphy, who was nearest the door, heard the key turn ever so quietly in the lock. He found himself waiting for the bang.

It was just a box, Doyle tried to convince himself as his heart hammered in his chest. His breathing came in short rapid gasps yet he still couldn't tear his eyes away from it. At the

house John had tied him up while an infuriated Danny held a gun at his head. One move out of place, he'd said, and you lose your head. It was offer Doyle felt he really couldn't

refuse. After, three of them rushed around in preparation to leave in a hurry. The boss had sat in a chair with a gun and watched Doyle. He was grateful that all he could see of the

boss was his feet. He didn't want to see his face. He knew he would be wearing exactly the same expression as he'd been wearing earlier. Gavin had found Doyle's radio. On the

boss' orders, the radio had been smashed right in front of him. Then he was gagged, a bag shoved over his head, and he was thrown unceremoniously into the boot of a car.

Bartholomew had ordered that the boot be completely empty so he would not find anything useful to cut himself free. It also meant there was nothing to buffer himself against when

the car sped around corners. They arrived at their destination, wherever _that_ was, Doyle could only guess that it was in the country. He was taken into the house, and thrown onto

the floor. He couldn't see as he still had the dark cloth bag over his head. Mr Bartholomew had then ordered the cellar to be emptied of anything useful except for the object Doyle

was trying hard not to think about and a large, heavy water tank that none of them could lift. Instead they put it use and tied Doyle to it. Finally they'd removed the bag and the gag

after telling him it was pointless to shout as there was no other houses around for a least 50 miles, and he found himself face-to-face with the…that box. They'd left smirking, the last

one to leave, Bartholomew still had the same damn expression on his face expect the corners of his mouth seemed to twitch uncontrollably. He had come close to Doyle and told him

not expect rescue. His colleague, Steve was dead. Dead as he was beginning to radio in the position of the house. How Simon had managed to get into the house before they had,

Doyle couldn't guess. Bartholomew unnerved him. There was a mad glint in his eye he didn't like. He tried to move the tank, managing to sit up slightly he pressed his back against

and tried to push with his legs. He might have had more success pushing a mountain. He tried the knots, but it seemed that John was very good at them. The ropes were thick and

cut into his wrists so there was no opportunity of snapping them or wriggling free. The tank was also devoid of sharp bits he could get at. All-in-all Mr Bartholomew was being

annoyingly efficient. Except that he was still alive. That puzzled him. It puzzled the others too, he could hear them above arguing about time. Why not just leave him here and run?

Why bring him along at all? Danny had shouted that, he had the loudest voice. There was a silence, he assumed that that was Bartholomew's reply. "How?!" Danny again. Doyle took

it for granted that Bartholomew had said something about suffering for their failure. He glanced at the box again and felt his insides squirm. Another silence followed Danny's

question, Bartholomew murmured a reply, and Doyle didn't like the sound of the laughter that had followed it.

Murphy almost nodded with satisfaction when he heard Bodie's angry shout and Cowley's quieter response.

"Do you think I care about smuggling?" Bodie shouted, his breathing hard, his jaw set. He glared angrily at Cowley, who matched his stare.

"We are not wasting resources just for Doyle!" Cowley shouted back. "He can look after himself!"

"You haven't caught him yet?" Nigel sounded panicked. Both men turned to look at him. There was something in his eyes, a haunted pale look. Bodie felt he would explode, something

was seriously wrong, instinct told him he had to go after Doyle, even though he also knew Cowley was right.

"You must catch him." Nigel wasn't looking at them, he sounded almost as though he was talking to himself. "He killed his sister. I was there."

"There was a sister." Cowley put on his glasses and flicked through the file. "She went missing." Nigel was slowly shaking his head. "Funny how sound carries." he said in a faraway

voice. "All that earth. And you could still hear her screaming." What little colour there was in Nigel's face left it. He looked like a pale ghost. Cowley ignored the look of abject horror on

Bodies face and resumed his seat opposite Nigel.

"Nigel," He said softly. "What did he do?"

"Buried her. All that earth. You could still hear her." Nigel was speaking so quietly now he could barely be heard. Cowley sighed. It seemed that Doyle was, to use Bodie happy

phrase, in the hands of a sadistic nutter but the young man could look after himself. He was, they all were, paid to take risks. As he had once said, he could sell their bodies to

medical science whilst they were still alive if he wanted... _yes_, said a small rarely heard voice in the back of his mind, _but this is a man who actually do it_. Their main target had to be

how the deposit boxes were going to be smuggled out of the country. Once they had that the whole business could be shut down. It would save a lot of lives. The money the

contents of the boxes was going to be sold for would be used to buy guns, the guns would go to terrorists and they would kill people. If one operative had to die it was a sad

necessity. Bodie would have to learn to deal with it. _Yes_, that that small voice again, it was beginning to get on Cowley's nerves, _but you like Doyle_. But the heart can't rule the head.

He'd made that mistake before, and he was not going to make it again. If Doyle was in trouble, he would have to get himself out of it and Bodie would have to follow his orders. He

turned to Bodie, who was looking murderous, to tell him when Nigel slowly stood, his face white with terror, his voice shaking with fear.

"Oh god. The coffin."

_Enjoying so far? If so please r and r! _


	3. Best Served Cold

I do not own the Professionals (mores the pity…). The only reward I get for this (in this story's case anyway) is sadistic pleasure, but no money. So please don't sue.

**The Schrödinger Problem**

**Chapter 3: Best served cold**

"Come on! Come on!" Doyle muttered through gritted teeth as he frantically tried to free himself. He was trying to squeeze his hands through the loops in the rope. He could feel the

blood and sweat pouring off him but it was failing to lubricate the rope's enough to slip through them. There must have been a corpse involved somewhere. Perhaps one of the gang

had a relative that had died recently. So, supposing this relative wanted to be buried in another country like Switzerland? Switch the corpse for the safety deposit boxes, dump the

corpse in a hole somewhere where it won't be found and take the coffin containing the boxes to Switzerland. Of course you'd have to fiddle the customs as well, but that probably

was already taken care of. But since there was now a lack of gold, what he was left with was a madman who wanted revenge, a hole in the ground, a coffin devoid of boxes, and

someone to blame for it's absence. Suddenly Doyle was desperate to be elsewhere. He could the blood trickling on his hand and arm, he gritted his teeth and continued to struggle.

He needed to escape or be rescued. Right now he'd willingly take either. He'd take Bodie teasing him about it later. He would even cheerfully take the rest of CI5 and the world

sniggering about behind his back for the rest of his life. Just so long as there was a 'rest-of-his-life' for them to snigger about it in. He could feel the panic rise uncontrollably in him, his

mouth and throat were so dry it was painful. His eyes were unwilling fixed on the coffin in front of him. He forced them shut. Just one hand. That was all he needed. One hand and he

was as good as free. He was so nearly there, just thumb and knuckles and then his hand would be free. Then he heard the noise he'd been dreading. The cellar door was opening.

He tried one last desperate twist, his hand was free! He quickly turned on side to start freeing his other hand...when he found himself staring down the barrel of gun. He froze and

slowly looked up in to Bartholomew's smiling face. _How the hell had he had got there?!_ Almost in reply Bartholomew stepped back Doyle, still mostly attached to the water tank, could

now peer around the corner. What he saw made him burn with fury. There was a second door, or rather a hole where a door should be, that lead to the back garden. It was wide

open and had been all the time he'd been there. He turned back glaring at Bartholomew shaking with fury.

"Must have put you in a dilemma, wondering which way to face me!" Bartholomew smiled a slickly smile.

"A delicious dilemma young man."

"He's mad! How long before he turns on you when he's done with me!" Doyle shouted. Like lightening Bartholomew had the gun pressed against Doyle temple, his face inches away

from his. His eyes, cold, blue and completely dead. His face twisted with pleasure at Doyle's discomfort. Doyle wanted to rip his face off and slowly feed to scavenging crows. He never

wanted to see that face again. He spoke in the light, infuriating manner, yet his voice seemed to be heavy with threat.

"Don't call me mad." Then he'd stood up and moved a few feet back.

"Take the coffin to the hole, then return. I will wait here."

The three men looked at each other briefly, Doyle could see them silently arguing with each other. Danny finally nudged them in the direction of the coffin. If anything could have made

the situation worse it was the fact that it took all three straining to lift it. Well it was made to carry heavy boxes after all, Doyle thought. He found himself wondering whether it was

airtight, then he wondered what difference it would make.

"You're sure you can go through with this?" He had to try, he wished that Bartholomew had left one of the others to watch him. He could have talked them into letting him go, he

knew it. Sadly, Bartholomew must have know it too.

"Quite sure young man." He replied.

"My name is Doyle remember!" he said breathing fast. Try to get him to see him as a person, maybe then it would make it harder for Bartholomew to...

"Quite sure Doyle." he said with barely a seconds hesitation. Doyle realised with a sickening, cold dread, that Bartholomew did see him as a person, and that was what made it more

fun.

"You'll be killing me!" Doyle tried desperately. There was nothing, not a flicker to suggest he even took what Doyle said seriously. The way he spoke, they could be discussing the

weather.

"Oh no Doyle. It will either be starvation or lack of oxygen that will kill you." He believed it as well, Doyle could see it in his face. He had somehow in his own twisted mind absolved

himself from the consequences of his actions. Doyle was thinking how he could use that when he heard footsteps approaching. Bartholomew heard them too.

"If you speak one more word Doyle, I will make sure your last hours will be agony."

They re-tied him, hands in front this time, and Gavin carried him in a fireman's-lift. They'd put the black cloth bad over his head again too. Though why he wasn't sure. An extra

torment maybe? He was thrown on the ground and the bag taken off. The first thing he saw was the coffin, the second thing he saw was the hole and the shovels. He looked up at

them.

"You can't..!" He got no further as the gun was aimed at him again.

"I warned you Doyle. Not one word. You going in there alive. You could go in there in one piece. Or I could shoot you in the knee. It is your choice. You want to be shot before you go

in? Either nod or shake."

Doyle would have freely admitted he was terrified and furious at the same time. Christ, he wanted to be rescued. Why go in willingly? If he was shot he would be in tremendous pain

but he would die more quickly. He knew why, he was still hoping for the cavalry at the last minute. Bartholomew cocked the gun, Doyle hurriedly shook his head.

"Good. Then you'll behave?"

Doyle glared at him. Then reluctantly nodded. John was looking increasingly horrified.

"You can't." He said "You can't just bury him alive! That's evil!"

Bartholomew never took his eyes from Doyle but said to John.

"Would you prefer to take his place?" There was a pause, but only a short one.

"No." he said.

"Then put him in. Remember Doyle if you even struggle..."

Gavin lifted him up from under his arms, John took his feet. Danny and Bartholomew watched. There was an eager look on Danny's face Doyle would have loved to wipe off. John

however looked horrified and terrified at once. Gavin however, seemed to be just obeying orders. Doyle's heart was racing, and he was breathing hard. They placed him carefully in

the coffin. The last thing he saw before the lid sealed his face was Bartholomew's sadistic smiling face, the corners of his mouth twitching uncontrollably. Doyle jumped at each

hammer fall, each nail that sealed the coffin. He felt the coffin scrape along the ground then a sensation of falling and crashing. He jumped at the sound of earth thudding on the roof

of the coffin. He swallowed hard and thumped his head on the headrest. The thudding earth noises got quieter and quieter. Finally giving himself up to the terror and fury he felt he

shouted at the top of his voice.

"Bodie!!"

John Turner's half sister, who was Swiss and had died recently of an overdose. Her body was to be repatriated to Switzerland. The plan was relatively simple. Switch the body for the

gold. A couple of things had gone wrong though. John's step mother, who was involved in the plan, wanted a proper funeral for her daughter and had arranged a quiet cremation.

Simon and the others had not been told and they had already dug the hole. It didn't take Cowley or Bodie long to put two and two together.

"Where?" Bodie was trying to remain calm. "Where was the body to be buried?"

"I don't know!" Nigel cried terrified. "I didn't dig the hole! I'm sorry! I thought I'd told you enough to catch him!"

"You didn't tell us quickly enough!" Bodie yelled.

"Bodie!" Cowley snapped. Bodie shut up.

"It was a farmhouse somewhere in Surrey! That is all I know!"

"There's no reason to assume he's gone there. Why not just skip the country straight away?" Bodie asked. Cowley said nothing, and handed him Simon Bartholomew's file. Bodie

starting reading it.

"He takes revenge Bodie. Revenge if things don't go his way."

Nigel nodded in agreement. "He's known for it. His sister tried to stop him once."

"We've got to get there."

"Where do you suggest we start Bodie? Checking every farm house in Surrey?" Bodie glared at Cowley.

"Wait. There might be a chance. How were the boxes to get to Switzerland?"

"Aeroplane. The flight leaves at 4pm today." Said Nigel.

"Right, we have their names and descriptions, circulate to all airports. Get Murphy to get a squad together. Bodie you start towards Surrey. If all goes well, Murphy will radio you the

location." Cowley unlocked the door, and saw Murphy outside it.

"Hear that?"

"Err, yes sir."

"What's keeping you then!" Cowley snapped, Murphy hurried away.

"Sir?" Bodie asked. There was a look of deep fury in Cowley's face Bodie had not seen before. He had seen Cowley angry before, very angry. But not this deep quiet rage he could

see now.

"Get to it Bodie. I've got a meeting." _A meeting_? Bodie instantly knew he was lying, but there was no time to enquire further as he headed at full speed to his car.

_What's Cowley up to? Will Bodie reach Doyle in time? Could this story get any cheesier? Will the author throw in a few more twists before the end_? _Find out next chapter!_

_Enjoying so far? If so please r and r!_


	4. Eternity in an hour

I do not own the Professionals (mores the pity…). The only reward I get for this (in this story's case anyway) is sadistic pleasure, but no money. So please don't sue.

**The Schrödinger Problem**

**Chapter 4: Eternity in an hour**

Doyle closed his eyes, slowed his breathing and tried not to panic. There was none of the usual padding you usually found in coffins which made it slightly less claustrophobic.

There was air which had been trapped with him. If he slowed his breathing it would probably last him for 1 to 2 hours at the most. He mustn't panic. He would use the air more quickly

if he did that. He needed to think. Although he had slowed his breathing, his heart wasn't listening and was racing even faster. The one piece of good news was that the coffin lid

was made from pine. That meant it might be possible to break through it. Think, what would Cowley do? Cowley would have known that he and Bodie would have followed him and

wait to be dug up. _Then_ he would complain that they weren't quick or efficient enough, and possibly send them on some sort of course afterwards. No, that didn't help. "Come on,

think!" He told himself. But it was difficult, he was barely keeping his panic at bay, and the box felt as though it was getting smaller and smaller. The noises didn't help either. It was

probably just earth settling, but the noises seem to amplify and the pitch black aided unpleasant imaginations. The Lid was his only option. He had to get through it somehow. The lid

had been nailed into place so possibly he could push it off? With six feet of earth on top he would have to be superman. There was practically no room to manoeuvre. Still if he could

untie himself that might put him in a better position. It was tricky bringing his hands up when the lid was about 2 inches away from his face, but with some careful shifting he

managed it, and started gnawing at the knots with his teeth.

As Bodie drove through the countryside, he couldn't help but look at each farmhouse he passed and wonder whether that was the one. He gripped the steering wheel. Cowley was

right. Searching them all would take years. Ray didn't have that long. Bodie's patience was running thin. Why hadn't Murphy called yet? Where was Cowley? According to Murphy

no-one knew where he was. Murphy was poised with a squad to move in on the gang, when they knew where they were. The local police forces had a presence at the airports too

so they could hold whilst they waited for CI5 to appear. There was nothing else to do but wait. They had checked to see whether Simon or any of the gang owned property or

farmhouses but had come up with a negative so far. If any of them did, they'd used an alias to buy it. Bodie glanced at the RT unit in his car silently pleading for it to call.

Right. Hands free. Feet next. Doyle stared, his eyes wide at the lid above him, not that he could see it in the darkness. He couldn't lift his knees more than a few inches but it was

enough to start working free. His breathing quickened, he gritted his teeth as he tried to get his trembling limbs to obey his instructions. Then he froze, his heart jumped into his

mouth. The lid creaked. The earth was starting to settle. That meant that the lid had some give to it, so he might be able to break through it. But if the lid gave before his legs were

free, he'd had it. Soon his legs were free. He clenched his hand and punched the lid. His fist screamed back at him. He took a deep breath and swallowed the pain. He punched again.

He ignored the pain and continued. He had to break through the lid, push the earth that fell in to the foot of the coffin and push himself out. Hopefully. It wasn't scientific and a dozen

things which could go wrong would end terminally. The lid creaked ominously. Doyle ignored it. He tried again. The lid splintered. The earth rushed in.

A tip-off provided the breakthrough. The gang had been located. They had abandoned plane travel in favour of a passenger ferry to France under assumed names. It was only the

anonymous tip off that prevented them from carrying out their plan. Murphy with his squad raced to the port breaking traffic laws and speed records in the process. The local police

had got there first, and had trapped them in a small empty building in the port. Murphy crouched behind his car gun aimed. He could almost feel the clock ticking. They didn't have time

for a siege. A car roared around the corner. Cowley's car. He got out and quickly crouched beside Murphy.

"Right." Cowley said in a matter-of-fact manor. "We need them out of there as fast as possible."

"We've tried talking to them, but they don't respond." Murphy replied.

"No, he wouldn't." Cowley said. "Get some men as close to the building as possible. When Simon Bartholomew comes out prevent him from going back in. But don't, I repeat DON'T kill

him."

"When he comes out?!" Murphy sounded astonished.

"Just obey my orders." Cowley said. One of the policemen came out to him and offered him a megaphone, which he took. He saw the CI5 agents making their way stealthily towards

the building, none of the gang inside appeared to notice them. Cowley held up the megaphone.

Inside the building, Bartholomew stood by the door. John was staring at him looking scared. Danny glared at John and Gavin just sat there. Bartholomew and Danny had guns, John

has lost his somewhere and Gavin never carried one. Gavin relied on his fists.

"We're surrounded. Why don't we give up?" John pleaded. Danny walked over to him and punched him hard.

"You still thinking about that bloody copper?!" Danny hissed. "He'll be dead by now!"

"Oh no." Said Bartholomew calmly without turning around. "With air he'll last for at least 2 or 3 days." John looked horrified. Even Danny started to frown.

"I thought you said he'd be unconscious within 4 minutes?"

"If the coffin was airtight which it isn't."

"You knew. He was right, you are mad!" John shouted. Bartholomew's gun was at his head before he could even blink.

"Don't call me mad!" he quickly turned back to face the door.

"GIVE YOURSELF UP SIMON!" they heard Cowley's voice from outside. "GIVE YOUSELF UP, IT IS _INSANE_ TO PROLONG THIS." He emphasised the word insane and it had the desired

effect. Bartholomew visibly twitched. Cowley hadn't finished.

"Your whole plan was _psychotic_! Only a complete madman that _crazy_ plan would work!" Cowley watched the the building anxiously, acutely aware of the time this was taking. He only

hoped his information was correct. Inside, Simon had completely frozen. Then slowly the hand that held the gun started to shake. When he spoke, his voice was completely dead.

"I swear to you. You'll never find Doyle alive."

From outside Cowley and the rest of CI5 listened in horror as three shots rang out. Then a few seconds later there was a forth. They ran to the building, Cowley flung open the door.

Gavin and Danny had been shot in the head. John had evidently dodged and managed to grab Danny's gun just as Simon shot him in the stomach. The forth shot had come from

John, who had hit Simon in the shoulder. John was lying with his back to the wall breathing hard. Cowley rushed over to him.

"Si..mon....e...evil..." John said in between gasping for breath.

"I'm sorry. We really need to know where you took Doyle?" Cowley asked softly. He could almost sense the agents behind him hold their breath. John was very close to death. They

would never be able to beat it out of Simon. John shakily breathed in and looked at Cowley.

Bodie parked at the side of the road and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel anxiously. Still no news from Cowley or Murphy. His impatience grew. If Ray _had_ been ..... buried

alive (_there he'd thought it_) then he could be dead even now. Without air a person would unconscious in four minutes and dead in ten. Bodie took a deep breath and closed his eyes

briefly. The unwilling knowledge forcing it's way in his head. With air a person could last a lot longer. It depended on conditions. It was possible to die of exposure, though it was

more likely to die of dehydration or starvation. Bodie shook his head and tried to think of something else. He took a deep breath. Maybe he'd call Claire this weekend? No as a

distraction, even that didn't work. Bodie smiled briefly. That would make Ray laugh. Not that he'd ever tell him though. He looked at the stubbornly silent RT unit.

"Bloody call will you!" he glared at it.

Bodie's fists clenched and unclenched and he purposefully stared out of the window, keeping his mind carefully blank. He could feel fear's harsh fingers slowly start to grip him. The

seconds and minutes that ticked away seemed to pass like hours. It came as a slight shock to him when he looked at the clock and realised that it had only been 10 minutes since

he'd stopped in the lay-by. He silently threatened the clock with violence. The clock ticked balefully back at him. He looked out the window again and watched the cars go pass. He

tried to let the constant drone of the engines as they passed hypnotise him, but his mind constantly turned and soon it started to annoy him. He found another window and

determinedly stared out of it purposefully ignoring the obstinately silent radio. He remembered someone from his past telling him that the phone wouldn't ring if you stared at it.

Narrowing his eyes, he tried to recall who it was. Anything to stop him from thinking about the current situation. Come on Cowley, come on…. The radio had barely beeped once

before Bodie was on it.

"3.7."

"We have the address 3.7." It was Cowley's voice. "Amontillado farm, near Bellsmere road, turn down the dirt track, the farmhouse is at the end." There was an ominous pause.

"Underneath the oak tree."

Bodies checked the position on the map then started the car. Why was it that wherever he was sent it was always in the opposite direction to where he'd been going? He turned the

steering wheel, the tires screeched, and he accelerated. The first thing he thought as he sped away was that if there was more than one bloody oak tree on that farm, there'd be

murder.

Bodie reached the end of the muddy dirt track and screeched the car to a halt outside the farmhouse. He got out the car and retrieved a shovel from the boot feeling sick as he did

so. He ran to the door and found it open. He ran to the back and found a second open doorway. As he peered inside he could just make out a large heavy-looking water tank. He

turned, his eyes quickly scanning the fields beyond. It would have been too bloody easy to have one damn oak in the middle of a field wouldn't it? Thought Bodie. He spotted what

looked like a crown of trees in a field not off and ran towards it.

The air had been trapped with him in the coffin. What was left in Doyle's lungs was gradually being squeezed out of him by the earth. _Up, push, climb, keep going_. His shaking hands

pushed upwards looking for hand holds that weren't there. Soil and earth closed in about him trying to push him down. There was nothing to grab hold of, nothing to pull up on. The

earth slipped and slid everywhere. He desperately needed to breath, but if he tried it would mean a mouth full of mud. His lungs burned, his muscles screamed. It seemed too far, and

he didn't know if he was making any progress at all. It was too dark to see, the soil got in his eyes, he needed air and he was running out of energy. Suddenly his fingers were cold.

He could feel a breeze. Hope flooded through him. He pulled his hand back down then pushed back up with more determination. A hand seized his and started pulling him up. Doyle

continued to push the soil down with his feet and pushed his other hand through to the surface. It too was grabbed. As he finally reached the surface, he breathed in the desperately

needed air. He continued to be pulled up by underneath his shoulders and he was hauled free.

"Ray?" he heard a concerned voice. Bodie's concerned voice. He would never tell him how much it meant to hear it and that moment. The sky was spinning, he felt sick and dizzy. After

taking a few more lungfuls of air Doyle replied with a flicker of a smile on his face.

"What took you so long?"

Bodie sat back on the ground, then realised he'd left his RT unit back at the car. Doyle was struggling to his feet, Bodie helped him. It probably wasn't wise for him to move, but he

could easily understand why he didn't want to linger there. In the distance hear could hear sirens. That would probably be an ambulance for Doyle. He looked a little bloody and

bruised, not to mention muddy but otherwise in one piece. All be it in one exhausted piece. When they reached the house, they walked round it and Doyle sat in the car. While Bodie

stood outside and radioed in. He was inwardly relieved to see the amusement on Doyle's face as Cowley berated him for forgetting the radio. When the ambulance arrived, they

dressed Doyle's wounds and prodded and poked him for a bit before declaring he was basically alright and muttered something about psychological evaluation.

"They think you're barmy mate" was Bodie's comment. Doyle glared. Bodie grinned, that was another good sign as far as he was concerned.

_If you have made it to the end, congratulations! Reviews are most welcome! You could be really lucky (yes I am being sarcastic!) and I may write a sequel._


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